Excerpts
by SecretAgentSyd
Summary: You never really know. Future fic of sorts.


Okay. I finally finished one of my fics. It's... very strange, and very different from anything I've ever written before, really. I don't even know if it makes sense or is any good or anything, but here it is!

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**Excerpts...  
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"My father gave me this folder. He said that everything I could want is inside here, just in case I came looking. Well... here I am. He said to make sure to look for the forty-seven questions, because he knew you would have been too embarrassed to ask them all, yourself. But don't worry. I'll answer them all as best as I can. There may be a few I can't get to yet, but I promise you--I'll get every one of these questions answered for you. Okay, Mom?"

xxx

I had a great childhood, no complaints. My parents couldn't be more loving, and I have a younger sister, too. Abigail Faith, but we've always just called her Abby. Oddly enough, people say we've got the same exact smile.

Oh, and we've got a dog. She's your typical mutt--big, loving, and goofy. Ma called her Ginger, but Abby was so small when we got her that it always came out as Ginny. The name stuck.

I liked school as much as the next kid, but I was good at it, so it wasn't a burden. In fact, they even suggested that I skip second grade. I told Ma I'd rather not, so I could stay with Timmy, who's been my best friend since we were three--that's when he moved in next door... or at least, the next house within a mile.

Then, during high school, since I was so tall and the team was in desperate need of students, I played basketball. Point guard. I was voted MVP my senior year, even. I've been keeping up with it a bit in college, but just for fun, nothing too serious.

So, as far as I can remember, yeah, I've always been normal. Nothing too weird about me, really. Unless you ask Charlotte--she's probably been keeping a list over the years of all the quirky things I've ever said and done.

(But that's Charlotte for you.)

Charlotte. Charlotte and I met during our sophomore year of high school, and the joke is we've been inseparable ever since. Truth be told, there was actually about a month in all that time that we split up, but we'd already planned to go the prom together, so it seemed pretty silly to stay apart.

I would have been valedictorian of our graduating class if it hadn't been for her. I settled for salutitorian, and Charlotte gave a great speech at graduation.

I know Charlotte and I will get married. It's just a matter of whether or not it's to each other. We're both in college now, at UCLA. She could have gone anywhere, really, but she'd always talked about leaving "small town life" for California. She's pursuing the nursing program, whereas I'm undeclared, and probably will be until my advisor absolutely forces me to settle down with something.

I've been thinking journalism, though. The program at UCLA is fairly new, but I hear it's great. Maybe one of these days, I'll be writing for the LA Times.

You really never know.

xxx

When I was eight, and Ma got pregnant with Abby, I asked that clichéd question of where babies come from. After delicately explaining how my sister came to be, Ma and Dad sat me down. There was a little bit more to the story, the said, when it came to me.

I remember trying to wrap my head around the information they then presented. It was a little strange, to put it best. I was their child, but then again, I wasn't. (Now, that's not how Ma put it--it's just how I translated everything, myself. Ma would never consider me "not her child.") Years ago, someone had chosen to give me the best life she could imagine, and that was a life here with Ma and Dad.

While the whole concept was a little overwhelming, some things in particular started to make sense. Like why I had a hint of red in my hair. Why I had blue eyes. Why I burnt so badly whenever we went to vacation at the lake. Why my nose was so funny looking.

What didn't make sense was why this sort of thing had happened to me. On one hand, I loved my parents dearly (still do), and I couldn't wait to have my baby sister. On the other hand, now there were two other people in my life--two people I'd probably never meet, never know, but two people I now felt oddly connected to, nonetheless.

I had this insatiable curiosity (okay, still do), so I just kept firing off questions. What had happened? Had I been a bad kid? What was it that I'd done to make my mother and father not want me anymore? If I ever wanted to meet these people, would I be allowed to?

Unfortunately, Ma and Dad didn't have any specifics about my birth parents. The most they knew was that my mother was a single mom who'd had no other choice. Where I lived, there weren't many single mothers--Timmy's dad had died when he was just a kid, and Charlotte's dad was never in the picture, but she had a step-father--so this, too, was an odd concept to grasp. I started to imagine this broken family--a father that had abandoned his wife and son, and a mother who'd had to leave her son. It was just all so foreign for a small town boy.

Anyway, my parents quickly reassured me that I'd done nothing wrong; God and fate had just decided this was the way my life was supposed to be. Dad also told me that when I was "all grown-up," I was perfectly welcome to try to locate my birth mother. I had ten years to think it over, he said, and no matter what my choice, he and Ma would never love me any differently.

That night, when I went to brush my teeth, I stared in the mirror for a very long time. I wondered, did my father have red hair, too? Did my mother have blue eyes? Whose fault was it that I burnt so easily? And who could I blame for my nose?

Ma came in while I was rinsing the sink to ask if I had anymore questions. I guess I did, but I didn't tell her that. I hugged her goodnight, told her I loved her, and went to bed.

That night, I dreamt I'd gotten to meet these elusive birth parents of mine. The entire dream was in black and white, and my parents' faces were blurry. They didn't speak English, so we all just sat around a giant glass coffee table and smiled.

All in all, it was pretty nice.

xxx

I was ten, almost eleven, years old.

The TV program we'd been watching had just been interrupted for a "breaking news story." Unlike most kids my age, I didn't hate the news; in fact, I liked to be informed of the world around me, no matter what it was that was going on. This, though, was my first "breaking news story," and I'll admit--I got a little thrill.

The big story dealt with a recent increase in "apocalyptic pandemonium." I only remember this phrase now because, upon hearing it, I'd darted to the bookcase for the dictionary. If they were going to use words like "apocalyptic" and "pandemonium" during the first few seconds of this broadcast, I knew I was going to need a little help following along. I was a bright kid and all, but I wasn't yet ready for the SATs.

It was the year 2012 now, and while the anticipation for the year had been building up slowly, a sudden fervor had risen. People were starting to go crazy. The world was going to end, they said. The Mayans had predicted it, and the Mayans certainly could not be wrong.

That, though, wasn't the breaking news.

Apparently--and Darla Fields, the anchorwoman, seemed just as perplexed as the rest of us--in what was assumed to be some sort of odd coincidence, the date which the Mayans had deemed to be the end of the Fifth World was the same exact date jotted down in "once secret government documents." These documents had been hidden from the public for decades, and only now, thanks to an anonymous source, proof of this whole thing had been leaked. The documents, Ms. Fields went on, had been validated time and time again. Analysts had declared the files almost too real.

The punchline that followed was enough to baffle American society--and later that day, the world--and send it into, well, complete and utter "apocalyptic pandemonium."

On December 22, 2012, a deal between various governments and extra-terrestrials would come to fruition. Alien colonization, they were calling it. It was a pretty bizarre theory, but we weren't stupid; we got the underlying message--it was pretty much going to be the end of the human race.

(Of course, whether or not it was a good idea to release this information to the public is debated even to this day. The entire world lived in panic for the next ten months. Nations went insane; alliances were formed and broken, violence broke out in the street, more conspiracies cropped up... even a draft was instated in the United States. All of this goes on, and they can't even cancel school. I was pretty upset about that.

Oh. And we still don't know who the "anonymous source" was, either.)

My parents and I... well, we just sort of stared at the screen for awhile. The shock was paralyzing. Was this really true? What were we supposed to do about it? The report implied that this ordeal was inevitable, so what good was it going to do if we went into panic-mode?

So, with that mentality, we didn't see a reason to rush out to the grocery store for necessities. My parents always had a lot of faith in God, that he would take care of things. If this was what God wanted for us, Ma believed, then so be it. We weren't going to try to fight His will.

Instead, we went on living life just as we had.

My small town reacted similarly to the way my family did. Our little community went on just fine. Every now and then, there'd be a shortage of this, a shortage of that, but we made it through those ten months without killing each other.

As spring turned to summer and summer to fall, though, fall suddenly froze into winter... and winter meant December was just around the corner. Ma, under all that bravado, was getting nervous, I could tell. Sometimes I'd hear her praying. Abby and I were too young to die, she'd plead. He couldn't take us, not now...

Meanwhile, Dad acted like he'd never heard the broadcast in the first place, or the flood of related news that followed. I remember one time, at the local grocery store, we ran went to buy some batteries. Our neighbor, too, needed some, and he sat there and griped about how they were out of stock--again. It's those damn conspiracy nuts out in the big cities, he explained, shaking his head. Dad just gave him a funny look and asked, What're you talkin' about, Ed?

Thank God Ed took it as a joke and didn't think Dad just was crazy.

xxx

I don't know how it happened. Or didn't happen, I guess.

I went to bed on December 21, 2012, around ten o'clock. I'd tried to hide my fears, for Ma's and Dad's and Abby's sakes, but I hugged them all extra tight that night. I made sure they all knew how much I really did love them, how grateful I was that they were my family. Ma and Dad asked if I wanted to stay with them for the night, and it sounded like a pretty good idea, spending your last night on Earth with the people you love. So, we grabbed Abby and all crawled into Ma's and Dad's big bed.

That night, I said my prayers. I prayed for Ma and Dad and Abby. And I prayed for my birth parents, too. I wanted them to be safe. After all, they'd brought me into this world; they needed to know how much I really appreciated that.

I remember falling asleep to the sound of Ma singing, and when I woke up early the next morning, it was December 22, 2012.

Everything seemed pretty normal. The world was still turning, as far as I could tell. I looked out the window, just in case. No spaceships, no fires, no aliens. No anything.

I was alone, which was something disconcerting at first. So, I went into the living room, just to make sure this wasn't some dream. Sure enough, there were Ma and Dad, watching the news. The day wasn't over here, but in some parts of the world, it was. Ms. Fields apparently believed that if one country could make it to the twenty-third, then the rest of us would be fine. (The aliens obviously had forgotten to attach a time zone to their plan, she'd tried to joke.)

I stayed up all night December 22 and into the next day. When the clock struck midnight, there was this incredible sense of relief--like nothing I'd ever felt before. All fear that had been left-over dissipated when the last part of the world made it to December 23. Of course, some of the news stories told us not to let our guards down--perhaps the aliens were just late, or realized we'd been ready. They'll still come by. We all can't just go back to normal.

But somehow, we all did.

xxx

I decided not to open my birth records that year. I was eighteen, and I had all the rights I needed to do so, but something held me back. I guess I just didn't want to know. Not yet, anyway. Besides, after I discovered the names of my biological parents, what was I supposed to do with the information? It's not like my birth certificate was going to come complete with a recent telephone number or e-mail address or anything, and getting a private detective service bordered on creepy.

So, I went about life, doing and having done the normal things a kid my age does. I'd been accepted to college by then, and so had my girlfriend Charlotte. We were happy to be going together, and even considered renting an apartment. In the end, we decided it would be best to just live on-campus, so we would actually make friends. It worked for her; she's a social butterfly, and she completely flourished there. I've made some friends through basketball, but my lifeline at UCLA is Charlotte, for sure. I don't think I tell her that enough, but it's true.

Anyway, after we finished our freshman year, Charlotte suggested that the three of us--my best friend Timmy, her, and me--all take a roadtrip. The problem was, we didn't know where we wanted to go.

Needless to say, I think they were both shocked when I nonchalantly suggested that we find my birth parents.

I really didn't know how to go about any of this, so I first approached my parents. As I knew they would be, and as they'd implied ten years ago, they were completely fine with it. They applauded my decision, and then Dad set me up with his lawyer friend (despite living out in Wyoming, Dad's got some pretty good connections), who basically took care of the whole situation. After only about two weeks, he called me to say that he had everything I would want to find my parents right there at his office.

We drove down the next morning.

After going through the entire ordeal of securing the information, I didn't even want to open it. It felt surreal, holding this piece of paper in my hand. I didn't even know if this was something I really wanted, or if I just felt obligated to track these people down. Charlotte, on the other hand, couldn't wait to learn all these new details about me--to see if my middle name was different, to see what my real last name was, to see what my parents' names were, to see where I was really born.

To lighten the mood, Charlotte woke Timmy up and suggested we all play a game. She instructed us to pick out names for my parents, and whoever got the closest would get skipped in the driving cycle. The prize was enough for all of us to take her challenge somewhat seriously, even though the odds were slim to none. As a bonus, whoever guessed closest, geographically, to where I was born, was privy to a free dinner at the restaurant of his or her choosing.

Timmy guessed that Angela and Jonathan gave birth to William Joseph in Dallas, Texas. He figured there'd be no reason to change my middle name, and that it had probably been Joseph all along.

Charlotte decided that William No Middle Name was born to Rebecca and Robert in Raleigh, North Carolina. They named me William to "break the chain of Rs."

I took a stab with Michael and Sarah, who had William Michael in good old Wyoming. Charlotte bemoaned my boring choice of locale, insisting that I had to think outside the box ("Literally," she'd said, "in the case of Wyoming.")

With our bets in place, I pried open the manila folder and tugged out the delicate piece of paper. Charlotte and Timmy stared wide-eyed, impatiently awaiting the details of my birth parents.

After I read the names aloud, we realized with some laughs that none of us could really have won that contest. Charlotte got the free dinner, though, since North Carolina was the closest place to Georgia, so we treated her to a Happy Meal.

xxx

I really didn't expect to meet my birth father.

After having imagined that he and my mother hadn't had a life together, I just figured that he'd never been, and never would be, a part of my life. I focused more on prepping myself to meet my birth mother (a virtually impossible task). I wondered most not what she looked like, but whether or not she'd even want to see me. I couldn't get it out of my head that she'd given me up, and perhaps that meant she'd never wanted anything to do with me in the first place.

Armed with only a name (Dana Katherine Scully) and the most recent address associated with her (2447 Wildflower Court, Bethesda, Maryland), I left Charlotte and Timmy at the hotel and drove off to find her. They'd both expressed interest in coming along, but I woke up that morning knowing it was something I had to do all on my own. I left them a note explaining I'd be back later--with details, of course.

The drive from our hotel to the house in Bethesda was shorter than I'd expected. By the time I'd gotten there, all the fears I'd tried to suppress had bubbled over, instead. I couldn't stop the voices in my head from yelling and screaming at me.

I almost chickened out. I did. I really did.

The walk to the front door was probably the longest walk I've ever taken in my entire life. I knocked on the door three times, forgot to breathe, and nearly bolted when I heard footsteps. I never imagined this would be so difficult and strange and overwhelming all at once. In fact, I guess I hadn't really given myself enough time to think this over. I suppose I wanted to surprise myself.

Finally, a man appeared at the door.

"Can I help you?" he inquired, staring at me oddly. I realized only then that it was probably a little early (nine-thirty in the morning) to be knocking on people's doors. He didn't seem to mind, though; he just looked a little tired.

"Yes, sir," I replied quickly. Usually, I was at least calm and collected when it came to strangers; at this moment, though, I was just a bundle of nerves. I couldn't stop fidgeting. Come to think of it, I probably looked pretty stupid. "I'm looking for... for a Miss Dana Scully."

It didn't even take a second for his face to register about a thousand emotions. I saw surprise and sadness and confusion, and even a hint of anger. Now, he was the one standing dumb-struck. "Dana Scully?" he echoed back, his voice just above a whisper.

I had the name right, that much I knew. I'd practiced saying it over and over on the way to the house. "Yes. Dana Scully," I repeated. "I... I was told she lives here, and--"

"Lived," he said simply. "Dana Scully lived here."

Okay, so the information the lawyer had provided to me wasn't up to date. I felt stupid again, as well as guilty for potentially having woken this man up. "I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't aware she'd moved. Do you know where I might be able to find her?"

He paused, but I got the impression that, thankfully, he did.

"If you want to see Dana Scully," he began, scratching the top of his head, "you're about eight years too late. She died in 2012."

I sure as hell wasn't ready for that.

"Died?" I parroted. "I... I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay, kid," he replied, his entire demeanor gentling. "What did you need? Maybe I can help you out."

This time, it was my turn to give him something he sure as hell wasn't ready for.

xxx

"...you really were beautiful, Mom. Mulder was showing me some more pictures today, a bunch from your days back at the agency, and he couldn't stop gushing over you. He really misses you, Mom. And I know it sounds crazy... but so do I. I've learned so much about you, and how amazing you were... and I, I wish we'd gotten the chance to meet.

"I'm getting married in a few days, Mom. Mulder's going to fly out to Wyoming with me; he's actually going to stay at my house. It's the first time he and Ma and Dad will have met. Don't worry--I'll be back a little bit afterwards to tell you how that and the wedding went. Two questions in one trip."

Before leaving, I placed a bouquet of flowers at her headstone, next to the ones Mulder had left a few minutes before (red roses from him, pink from me). He'd said a quick "Love you, Scully," then gone to the car to let me "do my thing," as he calls it.

I whispered a "Love you" of my own, then walked back to the car. Mulder was still sitting there, listening to a new Elvis compilation I'd bought him for Christmas last year.

"Your mother wasn't much of an Elvis fan, kid," he told me as I buckled my seatbelt. I could see him smiling slightly, as if he were remembering a time when she'd told him this to spite him, or a time when he'd forced her to listen to "Jailhouse Rock" on repeat. It made me realize that, not only did I miss not knowing my mother, but I missed not knowing these two people together.

These were the type of moments Mulder and I've always had, though--times where he'd drop a detail or two about Mom. I never heard much about him, really, besides things about Samantha and the agency. But, as much as it may have pained him, he's loved nothing more than to talk about Scully.

And I've loved nothing more than listening to what he's got to say.

xxx

_(C) 2030, Random House Publishing. Excerpts reprinted here with permission. _

_William Van de Kamp's collection of memoirs, entitled _Forty-Seven Questions_, based on the list of nearly fifty queries his deceased mother left for him to answer one day, will be available in book stores November 27. _

_Mr. Van de Kamp currently works as a writer for _The Washington Post_. He resides in Arlington, Virginia, with his wife, Charlotte, and their new baby, Lillian. He continues to keep in touch with both his birth father and his adoptive parents. _


End file.
